


Empty, The Bottle Drains No More

by babyteeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Dissociation, Forced Feminization, Forced Masturbation, Gender Issues, Hurt, Id Fic, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Misogyny, Panic Attacks, Self Confidence Issues, Slurs, Transmisogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyteeth/pseuds/babyteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Ramsay forces Theon into a dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty, The Bottle Drains No More

**Author's Note:**

> In which I project all my gender insecurities onto Theon, lmao.
> 
> No but seriously, I wrote this for myself and this is very much [id fic](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Idfic) so please don't yell at me because I will probably cry.
> 
> EDIT: THE ASTONISHINGLY TALENTED [LYOV](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyov/pseuds/Lyov) DREW [FANART BASED OFF THIS FIC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5983867). OH GOD, GUYS, CHECK IT OUT. IT'S SO PERFECT AND SENSUAL AND FHDWKSHBD *VOMITS EVERYWHERE IN HAPPINESS*

Ramsay watched Theon remove his tunic with a curious tilt to his head. 

“Do you think you’re beautiful, Reek?” he asked mildly. Ramsay sat heavily on his four poster bed, a gloved hand resting on his thigh.

Theon had been summoned up to Ramsay’s room suddenly one afternoon, and was ordered to strip almost as soon as he had crossed the door’s threshold. Ramsay had been looking at a discarded maid’s dress and petticoat lying on his bed, and he threw the order over his shoulder almost absently. When he finally turned to a stunned Theon, his gaze was hungry and wild. 

Theon curled in on himself, panic flaring urgently in his gut. His eyes dropped to the floor, flickering wildly as he grasped for the right response. “Of course not, my lord,” he said, “I am just a creature, my lord. Your Reek.” Theon shifted on his feet; the floor was cold, and he wrung his tunic in his hands anxiously. 

Ramsay’s eyes flickered, his gloved hand fisted. He asked, “You don’t like my work, Reek? All I’ve done for you?”

 _Wrong response,_ Theon thought, urging his slow, damaged brain to think faster. “Of course, my lord. I am very grateful for all you have done for undeserving Reek. Thank you, my lord,”

At Ramsay's silence, Theon drew his lip into his mouth, thinking of something else to say to appease him. Ramsay smiled before he had the chance. Ramsay bared an alarming amount of teeth, and Theon could tell he had been picking his gums clean with his knife earlier, a habit Ramsay would absently slip into when he was scheming or bored. 

“Is that so? Then you should feel very beautiful, Reek. You are my best creation, you know. I work very hard for you” Ramsay said. His eyes were bright with unshed laughter and he rubbed his jaw—appraising, “Do you understand, Reek?”

Theon loathed these games. He tongued at one of the newer, tenderer gaps in his teeth and nodded obediently. “Y-Yes, my lord. Thank you for explaining to Reek.”

“Good. Now tell me again, Reek,” Ramsay ordered.  
Theon did so automatically. “Reek is very grateful for all you have done for a creature like me, my lord. Thank you, my lor—”

“No,” Ramsay snapped, suddenly furious, “No, tell me how you feel, Reek. Not—” He waved his hand, irritated. “Tell me how beautiful I made you. What you like.”

Theon didn’t expect the pang of hurt flaring deep and shameful in his chest. He knew he barely passed as human anymore to most servants. He was truly Ramsay’s ‘creature’ now and the stares of common folk as he hobbled around the town with Ramsay’s pack of bitches and the way nobles would cover their noses with handkerchiefs and turn from the sight and smell of him, tugged at something inside of his chest that should have been long dead. 

Theon knew he was ugly. He also knew once, in another life, he wasn’t ugly at all. He liked his appearance at one point. 

His brain stuttered, and he couldn't quite catch the pained noise that rose, unbidden, from his throat. 

Ramsay laughed, a wicked smile splitting his face. “I’m waiting, Reek,” he prompted.

Theon opened his mouth to form the words, to beat back the wave of shame and anger and humiliation, but couldn’t do it. It was so wrong, so absurdly pathetic. He was disgusting. Saying he was anything but was so preposterously stupid. 

Ramsay nodded to himself, like he expected as much. “Oh, Reek. Did you _lie_ to me?”

Panic made Theon retreat into himself. He messed up, and now he was going to be punished. Another finger removed, or his shoulders flayed perhaps. Pain was utterly inescapable. His heart throbbed with adrenaline and his vision began to swim. Theon stuttered, “I—I didn’t mean… Please, m—”

Ramsay hushed him with a startling gentleness, and Theon hazarded a wild glance to his charge. Ramsay’s eyes were half-lidded like a pleased cat, and he took Theon’s panic in stride gracefully as he lifted a gloved hand and crooked two fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. 

Theon obeyed despite every nerve in his body singing at him to flee. He stopped about three feet from Ramsay, and stared down at his lord’s boots. Theon tried desperately to focus on anything other than reality, like the dried mud caked on Ramsay’s leather soles. 

“You lied to me, Reek,” he repeated, voice dangerously soft. Theon didn’t dare look up.

“It’s alright,” Ramsay continued in the same alarming tone, “I know how we’re going to fix this.” Theon heard the rustle of fabric, saw the ugly white of the petticoat from the corner of this eye. “We’re going to make you feel beautiful,” Ramsay said. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Theon stood with the feeling of unreality enveloping him. Forgetting himself, Theon stared openly at Ramsay, his lips lack in a complete loss for words. Slow as his brain may be, Theon could connect the dots. Little bubbles of indignation rose and popped somewhere deep inside of him. He was _not_ wearing a dress. 

Ramsay had taken everything else away from Theon—his humanity, his dignity, his cock—but his gender was something that was still _his_. And Theon clutched at it like a precious thing, took it out when he was alone to examine and find solace in and to call his own when he had nothing else. As a man, he didn’t have to be beautiful, it wasn’t necessarily expected of him, like it was of women.

And deep down, he still held onto the hope that he was more of a man than he was Ramsay’s creature.

At Theon’s rapt silence, Ramsay arched a brow and wiggled the dress and petticoat in his first at Theon, as if to garner a reaction.

“But m’not—” Theon blurted before clamping down on his own tongue.

Ramsay, as damnably perceptive as always, raised his other brow in surprise. “Ah, not what, Reek?” he asked, leaning forward like a predator catching the scent of blood.

 _Beautiful,_ his traitorous mind supplied, ever unhelpful. Theon closed his eyes, let them roll back in his head, and cursed himself six ways from Sunday.

“A woman,” Theon said at length.

This startled a laugh from Ramsay, hoarse and mean. “That is,” Ramsay chuckled while lifting a hip from the bed to pull out his knife from the holster strapped to his side, “fucking preposterous.”

Theon’s gut dropped as Ramsay reached out and latched a strong hand to the waistband of Theon’s pants and yanked him forward. Theon went with Ramsay’s tug and only narrowly avoided falling on top of Ramsay all together. Instead he ended up in between Ramsay’s spread knees with a shaking hand braced on his lord’s warm shoulder.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Ramsay sliced the waistband and front of Theon’s pants open, the sound deafening in the cavernous room.

Ramsay tossed his knife onto his bed and used his hands to rip the garment open wider, exposing the scarred and mangled tissue of Theon’s genitals. Theon made a strangled noise and instinctively fought to scramble backwards, his face blanched white in horror. 

“St—” Theon began to whimper only for Ramsay to speak over him.

“Well, I certainly don’t know _what_ to make of that,” Ramsay said as if it wasn’t his knife’s work he was looking smugly at between Theon’s legs, “but I am sure that you are no man, Reek.”

Ramsay snatched the wrist of the hand that Theon had been weakly pushing against Ramsay’s shoulder with, and leaned back with lips pursed in thoughtful consideration. He admired what was left of Theon’s manhood—scar tissue and twisted skin, and a mound of nerves above his sack, which Ramsay had so graciously spared.

Theon began to shake and his ruined pants began to slip further off his hips. Belatedly, Theon caught the waist of his pants and tried to shy back again. Excited by the fear as he always was, Ramsay dipped a hand into Theon’s pants and touched the scars where it looked the tenderest. 

At the brush of Ramsay’s fingers, Theon jumped, his breath hitching. The leather of Ramsay’s gloves was butter-soft and warm, and in response Theon felt an alarming warmth race up his spine, pool under his skin, and curl his toes. He couldn’t remember a time when a touch felt as good.

Ramsay bared his teeth in a feral smile and continued, “Ah, I suppose you are right though. You can’t be a woman, either.”

This time, when Theon jerked back, Ramsay let him go. Ramsay rested his arms on his thighs as he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Could it be that my Reek is nothing?” he mused.

Theon’s brain whirled miles a minute as he fumbled desperately with his pants, trying to find a way to fix them. They were his only clothes along with his tunic and he couldn’t afford sleeping naked in the kennels with winter already nipping hard at autumn’s heels. Ramsay didn’t even let him sleep with the rest of the pack, so curling up next to and leeching warmth from a hound was out of the question. Tears of frustration prickled his eyes, and his wrist ached where Ramsay had gripped it.

Ramsay sheathed his knife as he watched Theon panic and pant slightly in exertion. He didn’t allow his Reek much food—didn’t actually remember to feed him half of the time—but it didn’t matter because hunger made Theon all the more complacent. Besides, one of his favorite games was having Reek beg him under the dinner table for scraps like a dog.

“Yes, I think that’s it precisely. You are nothing, Reek, aren’t you?” Ramsay said.

Exhausted, Theon agreed, “Yes, my lord. Reek is nothing.”

“Wonderful,” Ramsay said and clapped his hands together once in delight. “Then into the dress you go now, Reek.”

Ramsay tossed the dress and petticoat at Theon’s feet. 

Theon swallowed once, twice, and then carefully stepped out of his torn pants and into the petticoat’s heavy frill. Detached, he pulled the dress over his head, not bothering trying to tighten the laces in the back, and smoothed the skirt of the dress over the ridiculous volume of the petticoat. The dress was large on him, noticeably in the bust, and the long sleeves came up a little too high over his wrists. He felt fucking ridiculous.

Ramsay had watched Theon dressing smugly, his cock stirring against the laces of his breeches. He made Theon wait and fidget with his mutilated fingers for a couple moments before he stood. Mostly, he wanted to see if Theon would muster up the courage to look him in the eye. He didn’t.

Ramsay hummed and circled slowly around Theon appraisingly, and then stopped behind him. Theon was shaking visibly with his eyes locked unseeingly on the floor. Ramsay picked up the laces of the dress and began tightening them brusquely. 

Ramsay tied the laces in the most complicated knot he could think of at the nape of Theon’s neck, just to give him a hard time taking it off. He grasped Theon’s shoulders and spun him around into view, eyeing him mockingly up and down. “You—aha,” Ramsay’s sentence dissolved into that mean laughter.

He sobered just long enough to ask, “How do you feel, Reek?”

Theon tried to speak, but the first couple times sound only came in choked whispers. “Fine,” Reek managed at last.

Ramsay’s grey eyes suddenly glinted coldly and he backhanded Theon with a speed and a wet crunch that didn’t allow Theon to register the pain until a handful of seconds after the fact. “Fucking _no_ , you cunt,” Ramsay roared and shook Theon by the front on the dress viciously.

“Beautiful,” Theon amended wetly, his nostrils dripping blood down his face and the back of his throat now. “Beautiful. I feel beautiful, my lord.”

Ramsay was still breathing hard through his rage, and it took a full minute of staring unblinkingly at Theon before Ramsay came back to himself. Theon watched with a detached interest as Ramsay’s pupils morphed from a deep, swollen black, to their normal constricted size.  
“Of course you do,” Ramsay said, voice a tad hoarse. 

He snorted at some joke unheard and grabbed Theon’s arm to lead him to the full-length vanity. “Here,” Ramsay said softly, coming up close behind Theon, like a lover, and meeting his eyes through the reflection. “I want you to see.”

There was a reason Theon avoided looking at shiny surfaces, and he remembered why, now, staring at his reflection. On reflex, he clenched down on the noise rising from his throat and the hitch of his diaphragm trying to drawn breath for a sob. He was hideous.

Theon’s hair was lank and greasy having been unwashed for weeks, and the deep shadows under his eyes made him look sallow and frail. He took in his scars and jutting bones and wrung his mutilated hands together tightly. 

He used to be bigger. His arms were alien appendages—loose chicken-skin draped over scarce muscle and scar tissue puffing white and sharp in clean, sudden, broad lines. 

The underside of his jaw was black and blue where Ramsay and slammed his elbow up into it for fun when, a week ago, Theon leaned down over his bath to grab a washcloth. And now his nose was broken and bloodied and soaking the front of the dress through as well.

He tried to look away quickly, but saw Ramsay still watching him over his shoulder, so he drew his gaze just as quickly back. 

The dress itself looked even more ill-fitting than it felt, and although the petticoat gave him the illusion of feminine curves, the general bagginess of the garment everywhere else didn’t hide what he was. A creature in a dress.

There was a few agonizing, horrible seconds where Theon tried in vain to fight the tears building hot and stinging in his eyes, tried not to breathe lest they spill over. They did, eventually, and Theon felt even worse for it. He let his eyes drop to the floor for good.

“Ah, what is this?” Ramsay asked and side-stepped to look at Theon directly. “Reek doesn’t like his present? And after all the time I spent thinking it up, too.” Ramsay didn’t look disappointed though. He was watching Theon with an intensity like he could flay Theon to the core with his gaze alone. As unnerving as it was, Theon already had his concentration spilt—trying to feel his legs and trying to breathe normally.

Ramsay giggled softly, “I often see you looking at my staff, you know. It’s disgusting actually.  
Even a neutered dog can’t help but want to rut, can he?”

Theon stiffened and flushed deeply at the implication. He knew he was not supposed to feel things that normal people felt when he looked like… the way he did. It was selfish. But even worse was the knowledge that Ramsay _knew_. Knew that a creature as deplorable and unsightly as Theon still yearned for tender touches and kindness and maybe even pleasure. 

The shame that enveloped Theon made him wish he could disappear. No one was supposed to know about those things. They were raw to the touch and utterly pathetic.

He thought he had been careful sneaking glances at the maids, only peered up at them for seconds at a time and never made eye contact. He even limited himself to looking at them only once or maybe twice a day. He admired their soft hands and the quiet grace they exuded as they poured wine or set plates. His past self might have leered at their full breasts or cinched waists, but he had found it exceedingly more difficult to recall what a naked woman looked like the more time passed at Winterfell.

Theon shrunk down, hunching his shoulders protectively around himself. Blood and tears and mucus were beginning to crust on his face. 

“Reek likes looking at pretty girls in dresses, hm?” Ramsay taunted, “Does he dream of having them at the dining table like I have them? Does it itch down there thinking about it? Are you missing that precious toy I took from you?”

“Please,” Theon croaked, begging Ramsay to stop whatever this cruel game was. He swallowed around the blood dripping down the back of his throat and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“Or,” Ramsay continued, softer, “Is it that Reek is jealous? Does Reek want to be pretty too?”

Stunned, Theon choked a little. “Wha… Sir?” He had no idea where Ramsay was going with this.

Ramsay snickered at Theon’s expression and smoothed a hand down Theon’s spine—over the laces of the dress. His hand stopped to rest warmly on Theon’s ass. Theon’s scar throbbed longingly in betrayal.

“Does Reek want to be pretty for me?” He stared at Theon meaningfully, but there was warning behind his eyes, a promise of cruelty. Theon was trapped. 

“Yes, my lord,” Theon said.

“Ah, ah,” Ramsay chided, “Yes, _what?_ ”

Gritting his teeth, he beat down the pang of embarrassment and hurt that tried to resurface in his chest. “Yes, I want to be pretty for you, my lord.”

“That’s it. There’s my good Reek,” Ramsay purred and patted Theon’s rump condescendingly, pleased with his response. 

The ghost inside Theon boiled and shook, clawing and scrambling for blood. He ignored it, and stood very still, wishing he could sink into the floor as Ramsay continued to squeeze and knead the lean, malnourished muscle of Theon’s ass.

Ramsay pressed himself flush against Theon’s back and bent his head to sniff at Theon’s neck—the heady stench of dirt and hay and sweat and dog. Theon jumped in alarm as Ramsay enveloped Theon entirely in his arms; their size difference was blaringly apparent in the mirror’s reflection. 

Ramsay growled as Theon squirmed, trying to turn away from his alien reflection and wiggle out of Ramsay’s overbearing embrace. He nipped at Theon’s ear lobe. “Steady,” Ramsay warned and caught the same wrist of Theon’s he had squeezed punishingly before. Theon flinched at the pressure on his wrist, which had already turned black and pulpy with bruises. But Ramsay just brushed his thumb back and forth over Theon’s pulse and laughed.

“Show me those pretty bits again, will you, Reek?” Ramsay’s smile was sharp and his eyes flickered down briefly over Theon’s body to indicate his meaning.

Theon’s face burned under a dizzying wave of humiliation. His mind immediately supplied a plethora of reasons as to why that was a bad idea. He was disgusting; he was a _freak_ , and he had to hide his shame lest everyone hate him more. 

But Ramsay knew all this. Knew all of Theon’s shame and depravity and still somehow wanted him. He should be grateful, he supposed, that anyone would want him at all.

So Theon swallowed and lifted his skirts, trying not to look as shy and pathetic as he felt. Ramsay’s eyes narrowed in pleasure and his smile turned hungry as he took in the image of Theon demurely raising his dress in front of the vanity. Snickering, Ramsay met Theon’s eyes through the reflection. Ramsay then cocked an eyebrow. “I like you like this, you know,” he said, ghosting leather fingertips just below Theon’s navel, “Compliant and dressed up just for me. Ah, how touching.”

Ramsay punctuated his words with the occasional grind of his cock, heavy and warm even through his breeches, against Theon. Theon blinked several times as a pleasant buzz began to wrap around his head and pool in his blood just under his skin. He began to shake.

“Interesting,” Ramsay murmured, almost to himself, and finally touched that special spot among Theon’s scars. Theon jumped, as if electrocuted, and curled inward again, shoulders hunching and knees knocking. His embarrassment was a tangible, screaming thing that pushed all of Theon’s insecurities to the forefront of his mind all at once and taunted him, made it hard for him to breathe.

Theon had never been quite so at odds with himself. He wanted to feel good the way normal people felt good, but he knew it was selfish for a creature such as himself to want the same thing. 

These gentle touches were far worse than any sort of torture Ramsay had yet inflicted upon him. 

“Oh, what have we here? My Reek shaking like some virgin maiden? How cute.” Ramsay took Theon’s face in between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, turning Theon’s head side to side and inspecting his pained expression through the mirror. Ramsay hummed in approval, “Down the sweet maiden goes then. Suck me nicely, Reek.”

This, at least, was familiar territory. Theon didn't wait for the heavy press of Ramsay’s hand on his shoulder, he’d one too many teeth pulled resisting getting on his knees for the man. It was almost relieving letting the dress drop back into place and to sink down to eye level with Ramsay’s belt. 

“No, Reek. Keep that on display,” Ramsay almost immediately corrected and pointed to Theon’s crotch with the toe of his boot. 

“Yes, ‘m sorry, my lord,” Theon said trying not to show his wariness. He hiked the skirts back up reluctantly and held them there with a hand in his lap. Then he reached up to begin unlacing Ramsay’s breeches with the other hand. 

It took more time than it would have taken most to undo the knot and loosen the strings of Ramsay’s pants given that Theon only had three intact fingers to work with, but he managed. He pulled Ramsay’s cock free and stroked it, watching the foreskin glide over the shaft. 

Habitually, his mouth began to water and Theon leaned in to lap kitten licks at the head a few times before closing his lips around it. Theon’s nose stung where the cartilage had no doubt been broken by Ramsay’s slap and he felt the telltale wetness of blood building up in his sinuses again.

Ramsay grunted above him and fisted a gloved hand in Theon’s hair as he always did. As Theon lavished attention on his cock, Ramsay stretched his neck and idly played with the soft tufts of vellus hair on the back of Theon’s neck. 

“Mm, here,” Ramsay said, kicking Theon’s knees apart wider and shifting his weight to his heel to brush the toe of his boot against the sensitive bundle of nerves and scar tissue between Theon’s legs. “Hump this.”

With Ramsay’s cock still hot and heavy in his mouth, Theon stared up at him in abject horror. That was… Theon balked at the idea.

Ramsay pulled his cock from Theon’s mouth with an obscene wet sound, and pumped it leisurely. He raised a questioning eyebrow down at Theon’s expression and rubbed his boot over Theon’s scars again as if to demonstrate. 

Yelping, Theon smacked a hand over his mouth, and then, feeling the drool and blood there, began to wipe self-consciously at the wetness, all the while trying to avoid agitating the skin around his broken nose. 

“Aren’t mutts supposed to adore rutting at their master’s leg? Go on, then,” Ramsay said, smirking down at Theon and waving his foot on his heel in what Theon guessed was supposed to be mock-enticing. 

Theon grit his teeth and tried decidedly not to think what he was doing as he lowered his hips over the worn leather of Ramsay’s shoe. The velvety drag of his gnarled flesh against the boot felt far better than it had any right to, and Theon’s hips automatically stuttered back on their own accord to seek that delicious friction again.

Panting lightly, Theon tried to stiffen his hips, to prevent himself from grinding himself mindlessly against Ramsay’s boot, but he couldn't help but rock occasionally against the leather.

Somewhere in between Theon’s half-formed whimpers and epic battle of self-restraint, Ramsay guided his cock back into Theon’s mouth and pushed Theon’s head further onto him, forcing his throat to accommodate his girth. He fucked into Theon’s throat in earnest, allowing him the occasional breath in between wet gags and coughs. 

Theon didn't remember when he lost his self-control again and started to grind himself against Ramsay’s boot in a horrible display of neediness, but Ramsay laughed breathlessly all the same. “That’s it. That's good, Reek. Very good.” 

Theon moaned, pained, around Ramsay’s length. The blood dripping from his nostrils was mixing with his drool and forming a small puddle on the floor. 

Something must have broken in his head, Theon figured. Because he could not rationalize that his own pleasure was the key to how he suckled and lapped wet, hot stripes along Ramsay’s length with such a previously undiscovered enthusiasm. 

Was Theon really so depraved that rutting against his captor’s boot was really all it took to send him into a frenzy? 

But then again, would he ever get this opportunity again with anyone else? No one, other than Ramsay-fucking-Bolton, would want a creature like him. And the last time he had felt this good had been a lifetime ago. Maybe he could allow himself to be selfish just this once.

Ramsay growled low and possessive and bullied his length’s way to the very back of Theon’s throat. Theon gagged and swallowed repeatedly around Ramsay’s cock, his sore nose pressed into a soft, dark pelt of pubic hair as Ramsay held his head firmly in place. 

Ramsay moaned and laughed shortly, “This is how I want to keep you, whorish and desperate on my cock. You’re perfect like this.”

Ramsay pat Theon’s bobbing head and pulled back in time to empty himself on Theon’s tongue, wanting to make sure Theon tasted him before he swallowed. He watched Theon swallow the first spurt of his come only to immediately replace it with another. Ramsay lazily smeared his last weakening pulses of come over Theon’s face and grunted.

Delighted, Ramsay peered down at Theon. “What a pretty picture you make,” Ramsay said and then cocked his head, thinking. “Ah, no, wait,” Ramsay murmured and reached down to pull Theon’s dress back up, exposing his scarred genitals. “There. Perfect.” On his knees, his shame showing, and covered in Ramsay’s come, Theon never felt so objectified in his life. Theon’s mind was reeling.

“Finish yourself,” Ramsay said with the wave of a hand, but Theon knew it was still an order however casually it was framed. 

But Ramsay had already come and Theon’s pleasure seemed moot now--selfish even. He didn't service himself in the relative privacy and safety of the kennels, much less with an audience. Theon mimicked Ramsay's casualness, hoping to get off the hook, “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind to undeserving Reek. But you do not need to worry. It is nothing, my lord.”

Ramsay didn’t bite, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll either finish here or in front of the entire dining room this evening.”

Theon blinked in shock and looked miserably up at Ramsay’s smug face. Ramsay slid his leg meaningfully in between Theon’s.

Wiping at his nose, Theon let his head drop to hide behind his hair. It was simply too shameful. Hadn’t Ramsay had enough? What did matter if he hadn’t come? It wasn’t as if Ramsay would get anything out of it. Except Theon’s misery, he supposed.

Drops of wetness splattered on Ramsay’s boots with a dull patter, and it wasn’t until Theon realized that he was crying again that he recognized the wetness as his tears. He heard a loud sigh above him and then Ramsay was squatting down before him, searching for Theon’s eyes.

Ramsay fisted a hand in the front of Theon’s hair and tugged, lifting his head. Shocked, Theon blinked around tears and flushed when his eyes flicked to Ramsay’s cock, hanging and still slick with his saliva. Ramsay scowled.

“Must I do everything myself?” Ramsay sighed, mock-exasperated, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He grabbed Theon’s upper arm and pushed himself up, lifting Theon with him. He shoved Theon toward the bed and pushed him down to lie flat. Ramsay sat on the mattress and positioned one of Theon’s legs by his hip, spreading Theon’s legs apart. 

Wide-eyed, Theon stared raptly as Ramsay situated them both and pushed Theon’s skirts out of the way. He watched as Ramsay hammered out the absurd frills of the petticoat with a flat hand and then paused, considering. He tugged off his gloves with his teeth before swiping the pads of his fingers on his tongue. When he finally touched Theon’s scars with his wet fingers, Theon jumped, the warm, tingling sensation as alarming as it first had been. 

Ramsay breathed a short laugh and leaned forward to better see Theon, hungrily watching for his reactions. A cut off high-pitched sound escaped from his throat before Theon could clamp down on it and he bit his tongue as Ramsay’s rubbing became faster.

With Ramsay’s large form hovering over his, and Ramsay’s eyes trained on his every breath, Theon felt trapped and awkward. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, or where it was safe to look. Heat flared deep and low in his belly, and he whined suddenly, the situation overwhelming. 

Ramsay hushed him absently, low and hungry and persistent in his ministrations. Cautiously, Theon glanced down to look at Ramsay. Instantly, Ramsay’s eyes flickered to lock with his and he smirked widely. 

Covering his face with both hands, Theon hid from Ramsay and the sensory overload. The raw arousal climbing in his gut went against everything Theon thought he was, that he deserved, and he ached for solitude and for Ramsay’s touch to never end in equal measure.

“Ah, hands down, Reek. I want to see. We men are very visual creatures, you know,” Ramsay purred and leaned further forward, his hair spilling over a shoulder. Reluctantly, Theon let his hands drop to stare at the top of the poster bed and bit his lip.

Humming in approval, Ramsay griped Theon’s hip firmly and rewarded him by rubbing his warm fingers firmly at his scar. Theon’s lips parted in a shaky moan as thick waves of pleasure rapidly began to build within him.

Ramsay wet his lips and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, enraptured. “Do you like my touch better, Reek?”

Dazed, Theon nodded and shivered. 

“Oh?” Ramsay prompted. “Are you going to show me then? Are you going to be good for me?”

Theon arched his back off the bed as heat coursed up his spine and tightened his nipples. He whimpered, “Y-yes,”

“Spread your legs more. Show me how much you want it,” Ramsay laughed.

Theon swallowed down his shame as pleasure began to overtake him, and he dragged his legs open further, displaying himself. He pushed his hips down, rocking into Ramsay’s hot hand. 

Ramsay clicked his tongue musingly at the sight of Theon wriggling wantonly into his hand and leaned down to sink his teeth into flesh—marking him. “If I had known I could make you into my slut, I would have cut off your cock a long time ago.”

Theon’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Ramsay in horror, but it was too late; his climax was already coming. Theon let out a strangled cry as Ramsay lavished warm, firm friction over his scar, making his orgasm inevitable. 

Coming hard on Ramsay’s fingers, Theon whimpered miserably as his balls drew up to leak seed over his scars.

“Look at that,” Ramsay cooed lovingly and pet Theon’s hip like a dog. Theon only groaned in response and closed his legs to curl up on his side and hide his face in his arms.

Ramsay cocked a brow at Theon and watched him for a moment. Though he was half hard, Ramsay stood and tucked his member back into his breeches. “Reek,” Ramsay called softly at the quivering form on his bed.

Theon didn’t respond, having not heard. 

Ramsay stood watching Theon for another moment before pushing a hand through his hair tiredly. For a brief moment he had the alien desire to comfort Theon. Curling his lips at the thought, Ramsay tossed his hair imperiously over a shoulder.

Not bothering trying to pull back the furs and quilts on his bed, Ramsay unclasped his heavy cloak and draped it over Theon. Theon was not lucid enough to notice the gesture. Ramsay left Theon shivering in his bed as he left the room.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Barely The Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983867) by [Lyov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyov/pseuds/Lyov)




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